


tighten up those boots

by Tuesdayschildd



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Kink Week 2020, Princess peach - Freeform, Varchie!Centric, idiots to lovers, inside Archie's mind, librarian fantasy, mariokart, vermont ski trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27031486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tuesdayschildd/pseuds/Tuesdayschildd
Summary: Kink Week 2020Our favorite core 4 on a ski trip to Vermont. Two idiots find themselves chilly. Can Archie finally win a game when Princess Peach keeps losing?
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36
Collections: Riverdale Kink Week





	tighten up those boots

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Kink Week 2020!  
> I missed you.

_. . . . ._

“Remind me again why we haven’t turned up the heat?” Veronica asks, her face half covered by the huge faux fur blanket she claimed the minute she emerged from her room.

Archie had noticed she’d replaced her ski outfit with cozy loungewear as soon as she announced to Betty the bathroom was available. He’d looked up as she entered the living room, missing the sharp turn at the bridge in MarioKart and allowing Jughead to slip in front of him into first place. He loves seeing her in any outfit, dressed up to the nines with her hair professionally done to down in yoga pants and tank tops when she talks them all into a class. But this look, bare faced and comfortable, is secretly his favorite. 

“Ah ha! Eat my dust!” Jughead had staked his claim on the floor on a pile of pillows the cabin seemed to have an endless supply of as soon as he’d changed. The boys were sharing the smaller of the two bathrooms in the cabin and had both managed to take their respective showers before Veronica was even halfway done with hers.

They’d also left all the ski gear haphazardly piled in the entryway while the women had hung all of theirs up neatly, but that was to be dealt with tomorrow. 

When Veronica slips onto the couch next to Archie, he shifts the tiniest bit closer to the middle, wondering if he might get the chance to bump his leg against her foot. _You’re an idiot_ , he thinks to himself, navigating Princess Peach onto a shortcut path to try to take back the lead.

“Arch started the fire in true, authentic ski trip form. We’re roughing it, Princess.” Jughead doesn’t turn around when he answers, and he misses the scowl she gives him back. “Plus we have to pay for utilities while we’re here.”

They’re all too tired after the third day on the slopes, too many runs down the double black diamond. The shower had helped with Archie’s sore muscles, but sleep was the only thing to help the fatigue of a full day of fun. No one puts up an argument to the boys ending the night with mindless video games and popcorn. In Betty’s case, the call of a down comforter and cocoon of pillows is likely going to sing it’s sweet song to keep her from joining them after her shower. In Veronica’s, a worn copy of some classic novel is tucked somewhere between the blanket and kettle corn bowl.

“When you wake up with a stuffy nose tomorrow, don’t complain,” Veronica tosses back at Jughead.

It’s not _that_ cold in the Vermont cabin. Archie feels fine in a long sleeve shirt and a pair of sweatpants he’d packed. Betty had booked the place the second they had all confirmed the weekend free — Jughead and Veronica didn’t have any pressing assignments for their respective grad programs and Archie and Betty didn’t have to work. They try to get up here at least once a season and were lucky it was available at the right time.

This vacation weekend is a stark contrast to their last, spent in the Hamptons over the summer with far less clothing, and Archie sends his silent thanks to Betty he doesn’t have to suffer through Veronica’s string bikinis again any time soon.

 _Suffering_ in terms of cold showers or several self care sessions. 

Mercifully, Archie’s exhaustion allows him to sit next to Veronica with some ease in the constant battle with the voice inside his head, ever present _._

 _Is she wearing a bra? She’s_ just _your friend. Are you_ insane _? But is she?_

“I don’t get sick.”

Veronica slips her sock clad feet under Archie’s thigh shortly after huffing in reply to Jughead’s retort. Archie tries not to jump when her toes wiggle in a bit further, and he offers her a small smile before trying to concentrate on the game. Bikinis do sound nice though.

Predictably Betty never comes back out of her and Jug’s room. It's nearly an hour later when Jughead excuses himself after his tenth win, tossing the controller and announcing he’s hitting the sack. 

Archie may be slightly distracted with the small person next to him that he’s a _little_ off his game tonight. But Jughead hadn’t commented on the lack of competition, and for that Archie is grateful.

He leans back against the couch as he reaches for the remote, switching over to the apps menu as Jughead disappears down the hall for the night.

Archie half expects her to be asleep when he looks over, but Veronica is still silently reading beside him, her knuckles pressed against her mouth with the book perched on her bent knees. The kettlecorn bowl, mostly empty, is now on the floor. 

“Are you staying up?” Archie asks, starting to flip through Netflix and praying she says yes despite their friends calling it a night already. He stifles the yawn that threatens to erupt and give himself away. It’s probably only around ten. Why not spend another hour or so in this torturous limbo?

 _Suffer_ a bit more. 

“A little while longer.” She peeks at him over the rim of her glasses, and he gets a knot in his belly imagining her hair slicked back in a bun as he follows her through the stacks in New York Public Library — dark corners and alcoves galore in his little librarian fantasy. Her glasses do that to him sometimes. 

_Moron_. 

He clears his throat, wiping the vision away. “Mind if I put a movie on?”

She shakes her head no.

His fingers select whatever is first in the list of suggestions, some historical drama about an Irish gang. To his surprise, she closes her book and takes off her glasses, reaching over the back of the couch to place them on the table behind it.

He has the foresight to get up to throw another two logs on the fire before the intro credits are done. Stirring the embers with the poker, he listens as she shifts on the couch behind him. 

_Get it together._

She lifts up the end of the blanket in invitation before he sits back down, and he notices she’s moved into the middle as she’s half on the cushion he had been before. 

Archie hesitates. 

_Under a blanket? With Veronica? Under a blanket with Veronica? Under_ a blanket _with_ Veronica while he’s having these ridiculously inappropriate thoughts about her — one of his _best_ friends. 

“I’m cold.” She stares sternly at him as if he’s inconveniencing her by standing there too long and his unfocused brain jumps into autopilot. He slides in next to her until their thighs are pressed together from hip to knee. Naturally, his arm goes up over the back of the couch, and he gulps as she sinks into the space he’s created against his side. 

_Is this real life?_

The movie begins, but he barely notices. He doesn’t breathe for the next half hour. At least, he thinks it’s been that long based on how burned down the logs are when his eyes wander to the fireplace. It could have been two minutes or a day for how little attention he’s paid to the passing time.

_Hell, it could be morning already._

It’s then that Veronica shifts, stretching a little he thinks, before his arm drops behind her - a complete accident, he’ll claim, as she leans back into it before it can escape. _I’m sorry,_ he practices in his head before he opens his mouth. But her hand comes up to rest on his thigh before he gets the words out, her fingers faintly pressing into the thin material of his sweatpants.

 _She’s just tired,_ he urgently reasons. _She doesn’t realize._

But he realizes just where _his_ hand has ended up, somewhat loosely wrapped around her rib cage. There is most definitely a sliver of skin brushing against his pinky finger, exposed above the waist of her lounge pants. His hand is big enough, or she’s small enough, or both really, that his thumb is just an inch below where he imagines the fullness of her breast begins.

And just like that, he’s completely fucked.

Has she noticed his erratic breathing? The short quick breaths puff out of his nose like he’s breathing into a paper bag, and if he doesn’t stop soon, he’s probably going to wake up Betty with all the racket he’s making.

Archie is not sure when his body parts start to betray him one by one, but _somehow_ his hand decides all on its own to move slightly. It’s enough that he’s definitely got at least three fingers brushing the hem of her sweater and that glorious sliver of skin, silky beneath.

He swallows. Loudly. _What the hell is wrong with you?_

There’s a sudden loud racket from the movie, a gun going off, and it’s startling enough that they both jump. 

Her hand, having gripped his thigh tightly in fright, starts to relax after the scare, her nails releasing one by one. His thigh is warm under her palm even through his sweatpants dampening the contact, but he tenses when he realizes she’s now moving her thumb back and forth across the fabric. 

Her thumb. Caressing his leg.

She’s only ever hugged him except for that time he was drunk and she tucked a blanket around him on her couch and _possibly_ kissed his forehead. He’s ninety-three percent sure he dreamed it, though.

She complained it was cold, but surely it’s an inferno underneath this blanket. Despite the heat pouring out of her palm and warming his thigh, he’s unwilling to move the blanket to find relief of cooler air. 

_What am I doing?_ he thinks, as the tips of his fingers catch on the edge of her pants, curling further underneath her sweater. 

_What is she doing?_ Her thumb is absolutely one thousand percent caressing his thigh.

His heart hammers against his sternum, pumping his blood hot and heady down low and he’s growing more and more aware of the hardening in his pants, how close her hand is to the growing problem, and the possibility that a bead of sweat may be beginning to form at the base of his neck.

His brain again registers how they’re pressed together, how she’s tucked up into him from her shoulder to her knee, and his tongue decides it’s now going to join in this confusing circus as well.

“Are you still cold?” His voice does that thing where it drops an octave lower in the presence of a woman he’s trying to flirt with. _God damn betrayal._ Madness. And she has no idea he’s completely lost it over here.

She only hums in response, twisting impossibly closer, so that he can actually feel the side of her breast pressed up against his chest. She’s still staring at the TV as far as he can tell out of the corner of his eye. 

All those little things in the past few weeks he’d brushed off as circumstantial start shuffling back for reanalysis — the bumps of her foot under the table while out with Kevin and Munroe, the way she kept staring down her pool cue at him when Fangs had talked her into a game, how close she had stood in the elevator when he’d helped carry down her luggage for this trip — right up until today when she’d asked him to help her tighten her ski boots for the first time in five years of this yearly trip. 

_Friends_. _Just friends._

His thumb begins mimicking her movements, each brush against her sweater dragging the fabric up a little so that more and more of her smooth skin is hot against the rest of his hand.

While he’s questioning everything in his head, his body is on autopilot, so sure of itself. He tightens his fingers for a second, feeling the tip of his middle finger slide just underneath the waist of her pants. Her breath hitches, and it’s music to his ears.

Her fingers slip just the slightest bit down inside his thigh and he holds his breath, waiting to see what she’ll do next while his traitorous hand completely slides underneath her sweater and half across her belly. 

_Is this real life?_ he wonders again. Has he fallen asleep next to her dreaming all of these tortuous wonders? Has every last wish he’s ever made decided to come true tonight?

He’s not really here, cuddled up in this big couch under this hot blanket in the dimly lit room of this cabin, half groping one of his best friends in some confused pile of hormones while their friends sleep down the hall. 

Veronica turns even more towards him and he can’t help looking down at her face, praying his eyes aren’t as wide as they feel.

She’s looking at him in a way he doesn’t recognize. It’s not an expression he’s seen on her before. Her lips are parted and her bare eyes earnest, and he can see how rapid she’s breathing, feels the rise in her chest against his arm. It’s equal parts reassuring and terrifying he’s not alone in this. 

Her other hand finds his shirt, bunching it up against his chest over his racing heart and tugging him ever so slightly down to her. 

If he is dreaming, he hopes he never wakes up.

_Holy shit. Holy shit._

She tilts her chin up as he leans over, following her lead with her hand on his shirt. As much as he’d love to dive into a kiss he knows will ruin him forever, for no one will ever compare to her, he can’t close the gap quite yet.

His forehead finds hers, the side of her nose bumping against his in a surreal moment akin to pushing his nose into a rose bud — delicate, but with that need to indulge simmering just under the surface.

“Ronnie?” He asks without really asking the question.

He can feel her breath against his lips, the staccato of his heart in his chest erratic now. Her eyes are deep pools in the dim lighting. He wishes the lights were brighter so he could see the details better. 

“Archie.” She whispers so softly he’s not sure she said it, her lips almost brushing against his with the movement.

Her bottom lip rests against his, a little plump pillow of torture doing delicious things to the stirring low in his abdomen.

He’s ready. He wants it. He wants her.

But just as quickly as he makes the decision, she pulls back, her eyes darting between his as the fist in his shirt becomes a hand pushing on his chest. 

“I’m sorry.” He pulls back abruptly, as far as he can while trying to get his arm out from around her. _Fuck_ , he’s that guy now, who read all the signals wrong and let his dick and his hand ruin the best thing in his life. His chest falls. “I’m sorry, Ronnie, I didn’t ask…”

“No, wait.” Her warm little hands cup his face as he begins to panic, her thumbs brushing over his cheeks he can feel brightening up under her touch as he continues to pull away. “I want this.”

He stops fighting her touch, blinking in confusion down at her and not really understanding anything that’s happened in the last few seconds. His heart is still racing. 

_Women are so confusing._

She’s suddenly climbing directly into his lap, knees on either side of his hips sliding into direct contact with the problem in his pants which hasn’t yet gotten the message to _abandon ship_.

“I want you, Archie.” 

He’s still frozen, entirely unclear on exactly what he’s supposed to do or say right now with his hands just hovering at his sides afraid to move. _Is this the nightmare part of the dream?_ He wonders.

“I just…” She looks down, biting her lip in a way that makes his erection twitch confusingly as she takes his wrists and places his hands on her thighs. His touch is light, hesitant and unsure as she pulls them higher up around her waist until she’s satisfied he’s paying attention. 

She leans forward, whispering to him. “I’m wearing Betty’s underwear.”

Of all the things she could say right now -- he still isn’t quite sure he’s read the situation correctly despite her literally being in his lap -- _that_ certainly was not it. She must be sleeping, sleep-walking or something, or this is the most realistic dream he’s ever had and he’s about to wake up drooling on the couch with them all standing over him.

“Oooookay.” The color must be draining out of his face, he feels it. The confusion has turned to curiosity. Despite the absurdity of the statement, he can’t help but let his mind go there for just a second...

She grins, dragging a finger down the curve of his jaw before she giggles low in her throat, a noise he’d like to hear again. 

“I don’t mean in a kinky way.” She shifts forward, and he’s very grateful to whomever invented sweatpants for how gloriously thin they can be sometimes. “I forgot to pack my long underwear and Betty always packs extras. It's not practical to be wearing lacy things underneath my ski pants, hmm?” She pinches his chin. His head falls back against the couch, hypnotized in the way she’s staring down at him, all arched eyebrow and full bottom lip. 

“Lacy things?” He mumbles, tightening his grip on her waist and pulling her ever so slightly closer. In a million years he’d never thought he’d be here, underneath Veronica Lodge. She could be speaking gibberish right now and he wouldn’t care. In this case she’s talking about their friend’s underwear. _Beggars can't be choosers._

“I thought you should know that. Before you...” She leans forward at the same time she licks her lips, her hands diving deep into his hair. Hovering her mouth right in front of his, she finishes, “...see them. They’re not my usual.”

He doesn’t have the mental bandwidth to come up with any sort of reasonable response beyond _“Noted.”_

His brain turns quiet the second she presses her mouth to his. It’s wet and deep, and the kind of kiss he wants commemorated on his gravestone after it kills him with how achingly good it is. It’s all sorts of slow and erotic, and his hand finds the back of her neck to keep her right there. He wants to learn all about Veronica Lodge’s mouth. She meets each swipe of his tongue with one of her own until his chest is burning with the urge to breathe.

Archie takes the opportunity for breath to trail his lips down the side of her neck, tracing the smooth skin as she arches her head back so beautifully, asking for more. She smells so damn good, something floral but earthy and sexy and her hair is soft between his fingers like silk. He’s becoming more and more aware of the pressure of her ass on his raging erection. The urge to grind up against her grows stronger by the second. 

She rocks her hips into his, sliding against him, and he has to still the motion with his hands to keep himself in check.

“Archie?” She asks, bringing her mouth closer to the side of his head. Her bottom lip traces along his ear lobe with a feather light caress. “Please touch me.”

She bites down on the flesh when the words register, worrying it between her teeth and pulling a moan from his throat. 

He doesn’t need to be told twice, reaching for the hem of her sweater and dragging it up and off.

There’s no pretense of accidental touch here when he finds she’s bare underneath, a tiny part of his brain cheering with the smugness of that unanswered question from earlier. He immediately gets his hands full of her breasts, her nipples pebbled against his palms. She’s even more beautiful than he’d imagined, and every minute he’s finding something new he wants to spend time exploring. He twists a tip delicately between his fingers as his mouth finds the column of her throat again, feeling the vibrations of her moan near her pulse point. 

Her eager hands are pulling off his shirt next, and he doesn’t hesitate to pull her flush against his chest when it’s over his head, wanting to feel her completely against him, skin to skin. It’s too much. And not enough. 

He stops her teasing hip undulations against him and guides her back gently onto the couch, kicking the blanket out of the way. All the while his brain is chanting her name.

_Veronica Veronica Veronica_

He slides between her open legs, chasing the friction they’ve begun to build between them, and rests the weight of his hips on her. He’s torn between kissing every inch of her skin, taking her breath, or tracing her curves with his fingers. He finds himself doing a little of it all, playing her body like an instrument until she reaches into his sweatpants and boxers and grasps him in her hot little hand.

His head falls to her chest, breathless as she pumps him slowly in her tight fist, pulling his soul right out of him.

It’s then he realizes he has a problem. 

“Ronnie?” He mumbles against her nipple, tongue swirling around the peak between his words, trying to distract himself from the pleasure of her fist. “I don’t have a condom.”

She holds him in place on her chest, her other hand tight in his hair. “I’m on the pill.” Arching her back gracefully when his lips pull at her, she gasps at his work. “I’m clean.”

Archie releases her from his mouth, trailing across her chest to the other breast as she twists her wrist just so at the head of his erection. His “Me too,” reply comes out half garbled into her skin. He’s barely swiped his tongue across her other peak when she slips her feet into his waistband and pushes his remaining clothing down his legs in a frenzy.

It’s sweet relief when his cock springs free of the constraints, and he slips out of her hand to help her out of her remaining clothing as well.

He should slow down, but it’s so hard when heaven is so willingly presented to him.

He doesn’t take the time to notice any details about her panties, _Betty’s_ panties, as they slip off with her pants, but he tucks away a mental note to remind her later that she could be wearing a paper bag and it wouldn’t matter to him.

He pulls the fabric all the way off, tossing the clothing somewhere on the floor and leaning back onto his heels to stare down in wonder at the sight in front of him.

Miles of caramel skin, all curves and valleys are spread open wide for him like his secret dreams, an angel right there panting and wanting _him_. Her chest is flushed and her sex is swollen and so obviously wet, and he wants nothing more than to bury his face between her legs and bring his name to her lips.

The noise she makes at the first swipe of his tongue on her, an aching grunt, is nothing like he’d imagined she’d make and the single sexiest thing he’s ever heard. It makes him feel primal and his cock twitches painfully at the lack of attention as he dives down to twist his tongue up into her, tasting the sweetest thing to ever dance across his tongue.

Her thighs clench around his head as he sucks her clit between his lips, muffling her moans above him. He uses one hand to hold her legs back open wide as his other finds her opening, slipping two fingers into a tight wet heat that nearly makes him combust. Her walls are already fluttering around him when he hums around the nub as he pumps his fingers steadily inside her. Her hands grip his hair almost painfully to guide his motions, dragging his head whichever way she pleases, and he’s happy to be at her mercy.

He could die right here, right now, and he’d go a happy man as he finds his only goal in life successfully fulfilled in his name chanting out of her mouth. 

“Shhhhh.” He warns into the crease of her thigh, letting his thumb take over her bundle of nerves and leaving a trail of kisses heading up over her belly. The biggest chance of ruining this right now is Betty or Jughead hearing them. 

His tongue darts out to taste her damp sweet skin before his mouth quiets hers, and he gets a little thrill knowing she’s tasting herself. Her hips thrust against the rhythm he’s set, her back arching up at him as she reaches clumsily between them, hand brushing against his aching cock until she gets her grip on him and guides him forward.

Archie doesn’t protest the move into the main event, helping to line himself up. She’s impatient, pushing herself onto him without hesitation.

Veronica is impossibly hot and wet around him as he sinks in, insistent hips already urging him to move, but he needs to take a moment to really take stock of where the hell he is right now before he pistons into her oblivion. He nudges her nose as his hand stills her hips, pushing them down into the couch and waiting for her to open her eyes. He needs a minute. Or a few. 

He brushes the hair out of her face so he can see her unobstructed. “Hi.” He half grins, tilting his hips a little as he readjusts and feels her squeeze around him in response.

Her eyes are all twinkly and her lips are swollen from his kisses, so beautiful, as he tucks her hair behind her ear. He’s memorized.

“Hey, yourself.” She matches his smile, pulling on his earlobes gently. He’d like to see her like this splayed out beneath him every day. Multiple times a day, really. 

Archie presses a soft kiss to her mouth, pulling away before she can deepen it. “I think now's a pretty good time to tell you I have a massive crush on you.”

“While you’re balls deep insi---” She cuts off when he starts to move. She gasps. “Me, too.” 

He’s slow and deep, trying not to lose it too quickly. He wants to sit back on his heels and watch himself sink into her, wants to lay down on her flush and feel her pressed against him, wants to take her back to one of the bedrooms and bend her over the edge of the bed. He wants to do all these things, but he just keeps his weight on his arms, staring down at her face as he keeps his slow rhythm. 

It’s pure heaven. Her back is arched and the deepest noises draw out from the back of her throat. When she finds his eyes again, she pulls him down with a hand on the back of his neck, digging her heels into his ass to urge him to move quicker. 

He tilts his hips so he can fit his hand down between them, his thumb finding the spot that makes her pant into his mouth. Her hands steady on the side of his face, his hair, pulling him in for a wet kiss. 

It’s dizzying how she clenches around him, inside and out. He’s so close to losing it but he refuses to finish before she does.

“Sit back,” she murmurs against his lips, pushing gently at his shoulder until he slips out. She follows, guiding him into a sitting position and straddles him again, sinking down so easily on him.

“ _Fuck_.” 

She’s tighter this way, rolling her hips sensually with just a little lift when she puts her weight on her knees. He watches himself disappear inside of her, his fingers on her waist, entranced with what’s happening to him, to them.

He thought she was a vision before, laid out on the couch with her hair fanned across the cushion. But here on top of him, she’s a work of art, too beautiful for any museum, with a sheen of sweat on her skin and her teeth pulling on her bottom lip as her hips master a rhythm sure to bring anyone to their knees. 

He’s having trouble holding a steady thought in his mind, except her name and how incredible she feels. She takes one of his hands, guiding it back between their legs and he gets the hint, his thumb circling tightly on her bundle of nerves in various patterns until he finds one that has her gasping out his name. His other hand is everywhere — holding her jaw to keep her rough tongue against his, winding through her hair to satiate the need to pull something, groping at the fullness of her hips. When he cups her breast again, pinching the tip, she clings to him, gasping his name and various words that sound like expletives into his neck. 

“Ronnie,” he wants to warn her she can’t keep doing what she’s doing with her hips if this is to go on longer.

“I’m so close.” Her mouth is against his ear, the sweetest noises he’s ever heard. He’s there, too, all deep spirals and tingles in his belly and toes, swirling up his body. “I’m so —“

And suddenly she’s clenching around him haphazardly, pulling him along with her into the sweetest depths of intensity. Their hips falter as the sinful waves course through him, and he draws her lips back to his, silent proclamations into their kiss as they come. 

_You’re everything. So beautiful._

Her back is sweaty under his palms as they slow, coming back to earth and this place on a couch in a cabin in Vermont, the stage of this climax in their friendship. 

_Inevitable_. 

“Well that’s one way to admit your feelings.” She giggles before wrapping her arms around his neck as they catch their breaths.

“Too much?” He pushes her hair from her face, wanting to see her eyes again and the dancing lights in them. _Please say no. Please say no._

“Not enough. I’ve been wanting to hear you say my name like that for years.” She shifts with a mischievous grin, rolling her hips just so, where he’s already fully hard inside her. Three little words follow, music to his ears.

“Let’s go again.”

Betty awakens suddenly, and it takes a few seconds to realize it's likely due to a repetitive scraping noise coming from somewhere outside their bedroom. 

_Creeeek. Creeeek. Creeeek._

It takes her a minute to remember where she is, not in her bed, but far away from their Brooklyn apartment upstate and beyond.

She feels Jughead stir next to her, his weight shifting the mattress as he rolls over and drags the covers with him. 

“Jug?” She mumbles, still half asleep and confused by the lack of sunlight behind the blinds in the window. It’s still too early to be awake. 

“It’s just Arch and Ron. Go back to sleep.”

She turns over with his reassurance, pushing her head between the pillows and pulling the blankets back until she can barely hear the noise. Her brain registers what he said a few seconds before she slips back into slumber.

 _About time_ , she thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> Any love for a part 2? Let me know.  
> Romantic start. There are some other kinky bits in the work ;)


End file.
